


Oceans At World's End

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Lore - Freeform, Random & Short, The North Rules All, legend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unyielding and wintry-bitter, the Princess within the halls of Winterfell takes to only one creature in this world. Her brother's bastard is the only company she accepts and seems to wish for, despite the many attempts of her close kin to see her safely wedded. Lyanna Stark has a will of her own, indomitable as the North itself, strengthened by her wolf blood and she does not cow before those who think they know better than her.</p><p>The general consensus is that her heart had been broken by the golden knight, son of Lord Lannister, and the Northern roses had wilted in her gardens, never to be seen again, as she grew sick of heart. What man could, after all, match Ser Jaime Lannister?</p><p>The bards sing her tales of great sadness in the halls of her kin, her imperturbable expression the surface of a bottomless lake.</p><p>AU! Lyanna Stark is rarely out of trouble. And she much enjoys it. However, being a captive of a raiding ship is a bit too much, even for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oceans At World's End

**Author's Note:**

> Very short shippy R/L fic in which House Stark rules Westeros.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She twined her fingers together in an impatient gesture, eyes gazing at his face. The cloak around her shoulder, too wide for her frame, swallowed most of her form beneath its concealing embrace, leaving for him but the shape of her face, long and drawn. The face bards dedicated hymns to still, harp in hand. Not her face specifically, but the face of the North, the beautiful and wild, untamed by a thousand hands. His sister is the same, in a sense. Untamed, unthinking, brutishly obstinate and the reason for which he swore to himself that would never be lacking in his own household.

“Hurry,” she commanded, forgetting that it was he who aided and she that was being aided. “Before sun rises,” she reminded him. “We must be there.” One hand shot out, groping for him in the darkness. Their fingers met and twines together like vines, brother and sister in more than flesh. “You promised, Ned.”

May the gods strike him for that. But he had promised; to aid her, to go against a king and father, to close his eyes to treason. “So I did.” The admission exacted a smile from his sister. She still held his hand when her head turned away and she stepped forth firm.

He felt in her the same resolve he had when she’d looked at him over a sea of father’s subjects, lips quirking just so, the rose in her hair slipping from its face to fall to the ground. And her eyes had followed it, drawn to the fall to the hand that picked it up, fingers working the bloom back in her tresses with a sure move and no dawdling. He had given it no thought. Why should he have? How could he have known that his sister would though?

Eddard, son of the King, followed Lyanna with constancy, might be even more of it than her closest companion. Benjen had not come with her, after all. But he followed like some damned ghost, clinging to the last hope of salvation. Why he should find such association with the saving of a pest and blight, he could hardly say, but for that it was the wish of his kin. A curse of the wolf blood, to be so tied and yet so removed.

“We are not long from the spot,” he answered to her earlier statement, pointing out to some place ahead. It was a small hill that could barely be made out through the darkness. Moonshine fell over the mound of earth, the solitary tall tree springing from it was blade did from hilt. The rings of tress and stones around sheltered them from view as they approached.

His sister gasped, hand moving to her mouth as her keen eyes caught sight of movement. Sensing the desire to bolt within her, he caught her by the arm, clenching his fingers tightly around the limb. He held her back, advancing as slowly as before. “Either you listen to me, or I return the both of us home.” His words worked to halt her attempts at escape.

The restlessness did not fade. Together they stalked through the shadows, two wolves on the prowl. and worse yet, wolves in human flesh. Ned kept a firm hold on her as they glided from hiding spot to hiding spot until they found a place from which a favourable view was afforded to them. Crouching down, his sister looked longingly at the base of the tall tree, spine arching inwards as if she prepared to pick up speed.

He allowed her the perusal, himself looking at the two guards and the hangman beside them, with his face darkened by charcoal so that his features could not be recognised. The condemned rested against the thick gnarled roots of the tree, the threadbare cloth of his garb telling of the conditions he had endured. Once the sun rose, they would lift him to hang. Ned glanced down at his sister momentarily, wondering what she thought of the sight. Bleeding soft heart that she was, very likely tears sprang in her eyes.

“If we move now,” he whispered, leaning close to her, “take them by surprise, we might have a chance. Remember, strike low.” She nodded in understanding and began making her way opposite him, closer even to the four people as he watched her.

Once she was in place, Lyanna lifted her hand lightly to signal that she was ready. Then she picked up one of the arrows and arranged it in her bow, pulling the string back. She aimed it at one of the guards. Ned waited no longer for sign from her but sprang to action with deadly silence for company. Many a man yelled out their courage, but he preferred not to alert the enemy.

Engaging one of the soldiers in combat, he caught sight of his fallen comrade over the man’s shoulder. The hangman had picked up a blade, however, and was heading for Lyanna’s location. His sister did not panic. She simply released another arrow, her aim accurate as ever, catching the man in his foot, nailing him to the ground. His howl of pain tore through the knight. Soon it was staved by a thick chain wrapping around his neck, squeezing the life out of his fat body. So the captive had been deceptive in his assumed position. Ned said not a thing, but simply continued to do battle with his foe as the condemned picked up the weapon of the deceased and turned to face the other guard who had risen to his feet in the meantime.

As if a strange breed of animal, he snarled and jumped forth, picking up the injured man by the back of his tunic, slamming him into the tree. Ned though he might kill the soldier, but the man simply lifted the blade and pushed it through flesh and none into his enemy to nail him to white bark. There were no words and no sounds but the cries of the foe, defeated and shamed.

The whole world seemed to still as Ned blocked a hit from his own opponent and pushed back, sending the man tumbling to the ground with its force. His own blade pierced flesh to embed into soft earth. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of his sister, hurrying across the meadow, cloak fanning out behind her like the tail of some flamboyant bird. The dark plumage completely at odds with the sentiment, Ned held his tongue in check as she hurried past him, not a single glance given.

Instead, the she-wolf hurried to other’s side, touching her hand upon his tense shoulder. Ned saw the thread snap, heard it as well in his head, and called out a warning as the man turned around, catching his sister vulnerable. Unable to discern intention, he jumped to her defence as long limbs gripped her, lifting her off of the ground.

But instead of expressing fright, his sister simply murmured something, wrapping herself around the man’s frame to the best of her abilities. Breeched legs looked around the saved’s middle and he sighed. “You cannot remain here.” His booming voice cut short their reunion. “Go now, go.” The words he addressed to the man. “And you,” he spoke to his sister, “come away with me.”

But the woman shook her head and freeing herself of the man’s hold, jumped away and came to him. She rose up to whisper to him. “A while longer. Just a while longer. To look at his wounds and bandage them. I swear I shan’t leave. Find me at the caves.”

Before he could refuse her, limber and lissom, as a doe might be said to be, she returned to the man and held out her hand, not saying a word. He knew then that he would have to go along alone, and return for her come morning. It was a mere matter of hours, but hours which could make a difference. Still, she had said she would not leave. And he, well, he had to decide whether his trust was with her or not.

Looking between the two of them, he sighed and turned around. They would likely follow a long route to the horses and see to reaching the caves from there. His part was at an end for the moment. Ned did not even retrieve his sword. He left the fallen where they were, fully aware that sooner or later one of them would get up and find his way to the keep to bring help. For himself, he hurried away from the stage of battle and worked through the darkness a way to his steed.

The animal received him with joy. Ned patted the beast’s neck and left his sister’s horse tethered. His helm was growing heavy, its weight bringing pain to his neck. Seeking an escape, even so small, he lifted it away from himself.

A cool breeze pushed past him, chilling his damp skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fog crawled upwards, its tendrils of heat curling in elegant shapes. Lyanna looked down into the small pool, staring at her uneven reflection. The cloth in her hand warmed her skin, hot water dripping down her forearm to soak into the material of her tunic. She held back a sigh and turned around. “I shall keep faith by you,” her promise rang in the space between them, filling the silence. “You can trust in me. Standing to her feet, she made her way towards him, expectant and hopeful.

He looked up at her, holding out his hand for the cloth; which she refused him. “It is not about trust,” he assured her, trying to grab the object from her hold. She did not relent but sat down next to him and pushed away his insistent hand. “And I would not hold you to such a promise.”

If she had been clear headed she might have seen the wisdom of his words. But Lyanna could only think of the ache of separation. She leaned in to clean the long split in his side. “You need not hold me. I promise willingly.”

He shook his head. “Do you love me?” The question caught her by surprise. She looked up and nodded her head. “Then do as I say. Whatever the King asks of you, do not hesitate to do it. If he wishes you wed, then wed. If he would keep you still from home and hearth, then accept that.”

Horror stained her features. “Wed? You would have me wed? I would rather die.” Not truly. She would prefer to live, if at all possible, but not wedded to another. “I shan’t wed.”

“You shall,” he argued. “For me, if not for yourself. I need you alive.” Again she shook her head. But he insisted. “Vows or no, you wedded me first. And I shall return for you. I ask you to trust in me.” He took her by the hand, bringing her flushed skin to his lips. “Let the King have his way, for now.”

“Where will you?” Her shoulders dropped as he let go. Pulling away from her slightly, he picked up his tunic.

“It does not matter. I shall return and that is all you need to know.” He leaned in for a kiss, stubble scratching her cheeks and chin. The spearing thrust of his tongue broke past her lips. She breathed in gently, her thoughts dissipating ever so slowly. His arm moved around her, as if to hold her up. Her own tongue probed his gently back until the need for air broke them apart. He chuckled. “I see you have improved greatly.” A half-memory rose to mind and she giggled.

“No blood now,” she murmured in reply, wrapping her arms around his neck, hoisting herself up. It was she who initiated the next kiss, pressing her closed lips into his, opening by and by in a teasing manner. “I thought you might be pleased.” His response warmed her more than the hot waters of the underground springs could

When she pulled back, Lyanna looked deep into his eyes. “I gave you words that night. I would give you aught else as well to cement this.” Unconcerned for the way she looked or the fact that he still bore ample injury, she stood to her feet and discarded her tunic.

He watched her disrobe without saying a thing. There was o attempt to stop her, nor words to encourage her. Lyanna enjoyed that about him; that he never tried to decide in her stead. Although, privately, she realised it might have to do more with their position rather than with his wishes.

The clothes fell away, one article at a time, until she was divested of any protective layer. Her skin prickled with awareness and she walked backwards a few steps. Turning to look over her shoulder, she took one more moment before turning all around and advancing into the heated pool.

Water surged around her, wrapping her inn its loving embrace. A pleased sound left her lips, fingers trailing over the surface of clear liquid. She did not look back at him, certain that he would follow if he meant what he’d said. She did not listen for his arrival either, but lowered herself into the pool. She closed her eyes and relaxed as her weight was held up by the gentle water.

Splashing sounds reached her ears, their heaviness doubled. Her eyes opened, not curious, but content. His arms came around her as she sat, pulling her into his chest, pressing her back to his front, landing her, indecently so, in his lap. Coltishly, she jumped at the feel of him, not quite certain, yet not repulsed. But he did not let go. Instead, one hand dropped from its perch on her shoulder, drawing a thick path down her front, stopping at her midsection, like a serpent, wrapping around her there.

Resting his head on one of her shoulders, he seemed to wait for something. “Rhaegar,” she called to him, hoping to draw him out of whatever dream he’d fallen in. “Must I wait longer?” Again, he chuckled. “So I amuse you?” Irritation slipped into her voice.

“You do a thousand things to me. But do not ask for names. I do not know, Lyanna. I am worse than a drunk when I am with you.” She decided it had been meant as a compliment. But still, when he failed to proceed, she pressed her weight back into him. “Your patience is astounding.”

“And yours is nothing short of an annoyance.” He made her stand then and turned her around, so that she might face him. Lyanna shivered lightly, droplets of water sliding down her skin. “It would be infinitely pleasing to not freeze to death.”

So he simply pulled her into him once more, widening her stance until she straddled by him by a manner. He kissed her once more, slipping a hand between them. She gasped at the intrusion and held onto his shoulders. It did not hurt. It was no pleasant either. His other hand found her breast. He worked diligently on her, as she imagined he proceeded with most of his work. Lyanna rocked back and forth into his touch, unable to keep still. He did not seem to mind and let her be.

Before long she had begun climbing some manner of summit. The end was nowhere in sight and she advanced ever so slowly. He released her mouth, lips moving to her bosom. Her own pursed together before she felt the kisses. Soothed, her head fell backwards, thoughts draining as the experience seared itself in her mind. She would have remained happily so but for his shift in position, forcing her own o change. He pulled out of her and away, leaving her bereft.

Her moa of protest was met with a mild look, half-understanding, half-pitying. She did not need his pity. Grabbing hold of his shorn hair, she tugged. Not hard, but enough to stir him into motion. And he gave in, breaking before her like the waves before a rocky shore.

It was the foreign invasion which hurt the most, she supposed, the stretching to the point where she thought she might tear, the burn of being cleaved in two ripping through her in full waves. Even her hips ached with the attempt to keep him inside of her. Her closed eyes allowed for no sighting of blood, if there had been any. She only felt his hand on the nape of her neck, anchoring her, his other around her waist. His lips brushed against her cheek and then her forehead. He offered no words. She wondered if he even knew any in that moment.

And then, the ache subsided. It did not go away entirely, but softened into something bearable, like a wound that had stopped bleeding. She opened her eyes to look at him. He held his closed as they loved together clumsily, trying to find some common ground. Her gaze must have alerted him for he opened his own eyes and stared back at her unabashedly. Her lips moved, words stuck to the back of her throat.

They were never released, but lost themselves in a sharp draw of breath when his mouth came down upon her. She arched into him, back curving, muscles drawing tight. She had reached a tad higher on her path, pain sinking to the back of her mind as instinct tool over, the swift rhythm of her hips increasing to keep up with his. It was exceedingly easy with the water around them softening the blows.

Shuddering, he released her and grunted, pressing his forehead into her collarbone, as if he were in some kind of pain. She wrapped herself tighter about him, feeling her lower half awash with some strange heat. He softened gradually, his hold slacking until he let her go completely, lifting her off of him.

“You must be tired.” His voice was muddled, as if he’d been drinking too much wine. Might be he’d not exaggerated. Cupping a hand over her mouth as she yawned, Lyanna nodded her agreement. She was exhausted. “Sleep a little while then. I shall keep you company.”

They emerged together from the water and dried off. Lyanna out her clothes back on and lied down at his side. “Do not go before you wake me,” she asked of him.

Turning his gaze upon her, Rhaegar smiled. “Sleep.”

When she woke, she was alone, no trace of him but for a bloodstained cloth.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
